At the going down of the sun and in the morning...We will remember them

Newburyport, MA, 9/11 tribute

We're back!  I had an amazing two weeks full of travel, new sights, a lot of time to relax and just BE, and I have many new stories and poems to share with you over the next few weeks.  But before I start sharing travel adventures, I want to express my gratitude to PBS for another moving Memorial Day concert.  My husband and I watched it last night and I must admit, the tears came easily as we watched this beautiful tribute to our nation's brave veterans.  And of course, our hearts were filled with love and pride remembering our nephew, Ron, who gave his life in the service of our country this past June. 

As I pause to remember my brave family members who served to protect and defend our nation, I am reminded of lines from For the Fallen, penned by Laurence Binyon shortly after the start of World War I:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncountered: They fell with their faces to the foe. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20228#sthash.CsXXhDUW.dpuf

My dad during WW II

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncountered: They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables at home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; As the stars are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end they remain. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20228#sthash.CsXXhDUW.dpuf

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncountered: They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables at home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; As the stars are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end they remain. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20228#sthash.CsXXhDUW.dpuf

My beautiful sister and her husband, who we welcomed back from Afghanistan last year

My brother during Desert Storm

My nephew, who gave the ultimate sacrifice for his country

My husband and I spent one full day on the battlefields of Gettysburg.  It is impossible to visit this site and not imagine the pain and horror of those three long, hot days in July, 150 years ago.  It serves as a poignant and awful reminder of the personal loss and sacrifice made not only by those that fell or were wounded there, but also of the families who received word that their sons would not be coming home.  May God bless all our veterans today, and may we all take time to remember their sacrifices as they strove to protect this nation for all of us.

Gettysburg, May 2013

Although Carl Sandburg points out in his poem Grass that time will fade memories of battles won and lost, but my hope is that we will never forget the sacrifices made and the lives interrupted...may we always take time to remember and honor our veterans.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.